


Action and Activity

by jenna_thorn



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-14
Updated: 2012-03-14
Packaged: 2017-11-01 22:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenna_thorn/pseuds/jenna_thorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sniper and his handler, in the field.<br/><i>“Was that a joke? Where’s Coulson and what have you done with the body?”</i></p><p>  <i>“If I ever get suborned, Barton, my body is the last of your concerns.”</i></p><p>  <i>“If you ever get suborned, Coulson, I’ll make it quick and painless.”</i></p><p>  <i>“I’m charmed.”</i></p><p>  <i>“Damned straight.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Action and Activity

“Current jamming tech makes radio silence obsolete anyway.”

“I’m impressed, Barton, that was almost twenty three minutes.”

“I missed your dulcet tones.”

Phil waited.

“I missed your flat featureless dialect-coached Midwestern lack of regional accented tones. How long did it take you to strip any trace of home from your voice?”

“Years,” Phil answered.

“Hunh, so no time at all, then. You really are from the Midwest? Indiana? Kansas? Does Mama Coulson bake apple pies with Martha Kent?”

“Is this in any way relevant to –“

Clint interrupted, “Pickup, dark blue, southern perimeter.” Phil glanced at the monitor set, as Clint continued. “Seven to ten miles over the posted speed limit, so probably locals.”

“Watch them anyway.”

“Sir, yes sir.” Once, Phil thought, that had been Clint’s favorite insult. He’d used it near constantly, a passive aggressive reminder in three syllables of roles and command and barely veiled insubordination. Then Mogadishu –

_”Take the nest.”_

_“It’s badly placed.”_

_“We don’t have time for better.”_

_“Flanking –“_

_“I’ll cover the blind. You cover the rest. Take your position, sniper.” Phil kicked the cases, heavy with smuggled weaponry, into some semblance of cover. Barton was standing, just hidden by the tent, scanning, searching. “Now.”_

_“Sir, yes sir.” Barton didn’t hide the disdain in his voice, but when Phil glanced up, the tent was empty. He took a breath, brushed his fingertips over the spare mags at his hip and thigh, and waited for the crunch of tires on rock._

_\--::--_

_“That was a remarkable shot,” Phil mused._

_“I take my job seriously. Whatever you may think.”_

_“You challenged my order and you’re pulling the three year old sulk?”_

_Barton stepped toward him, his jaw set in an angry line. “I offered my professional opinion of the situation. Sir.”_

_The deliberate sneer reminded Phil to control his own temper. “And yet, I managed to cover my own ass while you moved.” He stood over the Russian’s body, checked the sightlines, then knelt and found a third. “Moved twice,” he corrected himself. Phil stepped away from the pool of blood crawling toward his boots. “So we’ve both made valuable observations today.”_

_Barton was more focused on gleaning than on him, Phil thought. He knelt to pull free a shaft, twisting it from where it was embedded in a mass of collarbone and Kevlar. “Yeah?” He squinted at the head, sighed, and unscrewed it, sliding the shaft into a side compartment and the head into another._

_“You should trust me more,” Phil said. Barton bristled, but Phil raised his voice to forestall an interruption, “as I should you.”_

_Barton blinked, then said, “Sir, yes sir,” before striding away from the carnage. Phil photographed the scene, downloaded both harddrives onto the flash drive hanging on a chain around his neck, and planted the explosives before following._

“Toldjaso.”

“Constantly.” Phil watched the blue pickup pass from one monitor to the next. A beer can flew from the passenger side window and he cleared his throat. “Don’t even…” He was rewarded with a chuckle.

“I could.”

“One of these days I’m going to bring a laser pointer to the field with me.”

“Was that a joke? Where’s Coulson and what have you done with the body?”

“If I ever get suborned, Barton, my body is the last of your concerns.”

“If you ever get suborned, Coulson, I’ll make it quick and painless.”

“I’m charmed.”

“Damned straight.”

They fell into silence. Phil watched the shadows crawl from under rocks as the sun set over the scrub and sand. He carefully reminded himself to go through the isometric routines from medical, isolating and stretching muscle groups. “Report.”

“Did I beat twenty three minutes?”

Phil checked the time stamp. Three hours since the pickup had passed. “Nope, right at nineteen.”

“If I had a fishing pole, this would be a vacation.”

“Do you really fish?” Phil asked.

“No more than you really stare mindlessly at reality tv.”

“So is that footage still passed around the interns?”

“Nah, it’s found pride of place in recruiting.”

“Immortalized in PowerPoint.”

“The Stark liaison made it a ringtone.”

“Not…really.”

“You kidding? No. No one wants to piss off Potts. Are you hooked into the sat network?”

With a handful of keystrokes, Phil was. “Now I am. What?”

“Which one is over us now?”

“Globalstar, European, no unusual transmissions. Why?”

“Just wanted to see if you’d do it.”

Phil shut down the satellite intercept system. “This is because I wouldn’t let you shoot that beer can, isn’t it?”

“Maybe.”

The stars wheeled in their timeless dance overhead but Phil was feeling the hours creep into his lower back. The first edge of the rising sun smeared light across the edge of the world and he stood, moving slowly, to face it.

“Van’s moving. You doing sun salutations?”

“I be—“ his tablet hummed. He swiped his thumb across the screen and read, then typed out a short reply of congratulations to the primary team. “You packed?”

“I will be by the time you get here,” Clint answered. “Stay on the road, though. I need to stretch my legs.”

Phil shut down the surveillance system and pulled onto the county road. At a mile marker sign two miles on, he slowed and moved onto a seemingly empty shoulder, coming to a stop but not taking the van out of gear, and opened the passenger door. Clint slid in and pushed his gear bag over his shoulder into the well between them, behind the gear shift. Phil rolled back onto the road.

“Tell me you’re buying me breakfast.”

“I don’t like you that much. But SHIELD is buying us both breakfast.”

“Good by me. Company dime means no Walk of Shame.” Clint stretched his shoulders with a worrying pop, then fastened his seat belt. “There’s a mom and pop diner this way. Three miles.”

Phil nodded. “If the coffee’s burnt, we’re walking right out again.”

“You’re never going to forgive me for that, are you?”

“No.” Phil said, and Clint laughed into the empty highway in front of them.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt and story title from a Dreamwidth post in James' journal. Credit to aris_tgd of DW for the title.
> 
> Prompt from James: I am very tempted to issue a fic challenge where people write stories where there is no action ... The "sit on the porch" challenge. Except they could not do anything in places other than the porch.


End file.
